The Puppeteer
by shattered petal
Summary: Although the puppet suffers tears, scars, and haunting memories, he is still bright; he shines. And he is beautiful. She has never seen anything more beautiful than this puppet, this boy, this man. This Angel. -Link/Midna


**author's note**: Hey. It's been a couple of months since I wrote about these two. I hope you enjoy this oneshot.

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**Title**: The Puppeteer  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Rating**: T  
**Couple**: Link/Midna

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Even Angels fall, eventually.

The strings never burn her fingers. Always, she holds them, controlling her puppet too easily. While the Master hides in a shadow, the puppet tears, suffers the claws of Sin and Darkness. Despite the cackles and laughter, the puppet doesn't rip. The legs remain strong, but the strings are stronger, keeping him upright, pushing, forcing, torturing, corrupting.

Yet time is never on her side. The strings are threading. She has played with this one puppet for a very long time–– he's old, defeated, bloody. It's _time_ she finds a new toy to play with. But, somehow, the strings are wrapped around her small, pathetic hands and she cannot tug the puppet away.

When the strings tighten, blood begins to drip, and the puppet engraves himself across her vile, disgusting and unholy body. Then she's drowning, drowning in power that she no longer possesses. Power. It has always been _power_. Everything. Everything. The reason she is here, the reason she exists–– _power_. All she desires is power, the ability to control.

For a while, she is convinced she has the puppet within her control. Only to be fooled. All along her power has been useless. The puppet has his own mind, his own body, his own soul. He moves alone, without her aid. He can touch, walk, talk and breathe without her.

And then the strings begin to detach. Slowly, the threads pry apart, and the puppet lowers, his feet almost touching the ground. She clings to the strings, but she is not powerful, she is not strong. She has always just been this Creature from _over there_. This puppet never perceived her as his Master.

She is nothing. She is so insignificant she is just a shadow.

The Master _needs_ the puppet. Without the puppet, the Master is useless, _powerless_.

She is so alone.

It doesn't take long for the Wall to break, and the emotions spill. Constantly, the Demon has worn a mask, a shield, armour. Never has she allowed emotions to drive her insane, to lose grip of her motives, what she strives for. Yet, without trying, the puppet has let the Wall tumble, and the damage is never recovered.

Envy is the first emotion. She may hold the strings, but the puppet is getting stronger and she finds herself being dragged by him.

For days, she appears to be the only woman in the puppet's life. Then, not only does she realise she is not a woman at all anymore, but an ugly creature, she also realises there are other women. Some strangers, some not. Strangers chase after him, delirious and giddy. Those who are not strangers admire him, compliment him, grow close.

They are nice to him. A generous gift she never offers.

She can't help but hate the women who shower him with this gift. They are capable of giving him something she can't.

Then there's the loneliness. The puppet has many other puppet friends. There are thousands of puppets, toys she only views as fun, irrelevant, a joke. But there are so many, and one Puppeteer. She will never be welcomed–– even before her birth, she was not welcomed. Those like her are not welcomed. She is a curse, infecting a wonderful, bright and glorious land. She is nothing but a disease to their eyes.

It shames her, but she hopes the puppet, her _own_ puppet –– the only puppet she'll ever use –– doesn't see her as a disease.

The very thought tears her apart.

When the guilt arrives, she is furious. The guilt slowly spreads, plaguing her mind, heart and everything. This boy was once very happy. Innocent in his nature. But she has always been selfish and weak. While this boy has survived countless near deaths, been transformed into a horrific beast, faced monsters from beneath–– she was too blind to realise her most faithful servant had turned against her.

–– Everything was because of her inability to be what she should be: a Ruler.

The crown continues to slip off her head and shatter.

Any ounce of happiness this boy possesses she has taken away from him.

Maybe it is just her nature. A Twili does not _feel_ happiness. According to others, these Creatures feed off misery, temptation and crime. They are Evil. Their banishment is always within good reason.

The whole system is unfair though. Born a Twili, what hope does one have in being _good_?

No one could be Lighter than he. Although the puppet suffers tears, scars, and haunting memories, he is still bright; he shines. And he is beautiful. She has never seen anything more beautiful than this puppet, this boy, this _man_.

This Angel.

What poisons her heart is how, despite the fact she no longer has power over him, he still follows her. The wings remain bright, strong and beautiful. He flies, flies so high for her, closer and closer to what she desires. Yet the sun is too hot, too bright–– it will kill her. So he flies in front, is her shield, and when he flies too close to the sun, his wings singe, and only until she claims her crown will his wings dissolve. Then he'll eventually fall.

Her world always comes first. Yet, secretly, she thinks to herself–– she'd give everything to be with him forever.

The strings snap. Bloody hands continue to cling to the loose thread, but the puppet has found its strong legs and walked ahead.

No longer can she cling to the only Being she ever loved.


End file.
